War Zone
by Christian
Summary: Christian DuLac returns to fight the Sabbat in Chicago, with a host of interesting allies. Sequel to Darkness.


Christian DuLac ducked behind a crumbling brick wall, the sounds of enemy fire screaming over his head. Beside him, a stream of curses could be heard over the clatter of bullets. He looked over, seeing the prone figure of John Nash, a bullet embedded in his knee. Christian looked over sceptically, shaking his head.  
  
"Shut up Nash, it doesn't hurt that badly."  
  
The reply came back instantly, the pain evident in his voice. "Fuck you Chris. How's about I put a cap in your knee and see how you handle it?"  
  
Christian smirked back softly, knowing his friend would be just fine given a few minutes. If only the Sabbat would stop firing..  
  
"God dammit.don't these guys run out of ammo?" Christian yelled at Nash, the sound of an explosion echoing in the distance. The Sabbat were everywhere in Chicago, causing more problems for Prince Lodin then was needed. Chicago was a border territory, and recently, the Sabbat from Canada decided it was time they take it. The Camarilla mobilized its forces, and the next thing you know, all hell was breaking loose.  
  
Christian peered up over the small wall, which was being chipped away nicely by enemy rounds. He dropped back down, having gained what he needed. An enemy post, to the right. He turned to Nash, smiling. "Lay down fire for me. I'm gonna drop those Sabbat where they are."  
  
Nash looked up; his knee now healed, and arched a brow at Christian. "Are you fuckin' nuts? You'll get pasted!" Nash looked down at his Desert Eagle .50 calibre. "But, it's your funeral. Good luck." He smirked at Christian, noting the bullet holes newly placed into Chris' beloved jacket. That's why he's so mad. Nash braced himself, and poked his head and gun over the wall, firing towards the enemy post. With that, Christian, took off, his superhuman speed aiding him well. The enemy was too preoccupied with Nash to even know he had left. Sabbat were all over the city, and the Camarilla was having a hell of time with them.  
  
Chris leapt behind another bit of cover, noticing with appreciation that no one currently was firing at him. He grinned madly, drawing his double barrel sawed off shotgun. He stood slowly, and looked around. The building was, or used to be, a shop, but was now gutted by bullets and fire. He saw his position was much nearer to the Sabbat then before, but he still had a way to go. Head down, he barrelled down the street, reaching the safety of an alleyway. From here, it was only a few meters to the Sabbat. He stepped around the corner, and in a flurry of motion, levelled the shotgun at the back of the nearest enemy. He fired a single shot, point blank, the head of the enemy bursting like a ripe melon, unable even to twitch before it was too late. His 3 partners looked over in shock, and levelled their weapons at Christian. He dove backwards, firing the other shot before disappearing around the corner. He cursed loudly, hearing the shot miss, and quickly reloaded, snapping the spent cartridges onto the sidewalk. He swiftly slid two more inside, and closed the gun. He turned around the corner, and froze in shock.  
  
The three vampires that were there just a moment ago were now nothing more than char. He looked around briefly, and smiled as a figure hovered to a halt beside him. Grey eyes, tall, and wearing a cloak, with the ability to dust vampires with a snap of a finger, it could only be one person. Sergei Dmitryvich Molotov.  
  
"Hello Christian. Good of you to make it. It looked like you could have used some help here." Sergei spoke with a heavy Russian accent, looking over at his work, smiling slightly. "I guess I evened the odds."  
  
"No fuckin' kidding bud. You took down the whole lot of them. But, my shotgun sure pulped that one." Chris smiled, looking down at the remains of the one he killed. This area had quieted down some, bullets echoing occasionally from farther down the streets, or a few streets over. Urban warfare was the bane of the Camarilla, but the Sabbat sure knew what they were doing. Christian paused a minute, lighting up a cigarette, flinching from the flame, as usual. He exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke into the air, Sergei clucking his tongue at him.  
  
"Nasty habit Comrade. You should really consider giving it up."  
  
"Fuck off Sergei. You know as well as I do that I got nothing to lose. Besides, it's a great stress reliever. Maybe you should take a puff. Hell, even Michele does sometimes." Christian chuckled quietly, hoping Michele was alright, wherever he was in the city. The cigarette burned brightly against the shadows, obsidian darkness overtaking them as the streetlight above them burned itself out. He dropped the cig, grinding it under the heel of his combat boots. Lord he loved his job. "Fuckin' hell.where'd the light go?"  
  
As Christian turned towards the streetlight, a figure appeared from the nearby alleyway, barely visible, the dense shadow obscuring all vision. The man was about six feet, two inches tall, was clad in a black Armani suit, a rose on his lapel, a black tie finishing off the rather gentlemanly ensemble. Light olive skin showered his handsome features, brilliant green eyes staring at the group from the almost palpable darkness. His hands were neatly folded behind his back, his shoulder-length black hair rustling in the breeze like leaves in a windstorm.  
  
"Hello gentlemen," the newcomer spoke, a fine Italian accent tinting his words. "You really are causing my pack and the Sabbat a lot of trouble. Would you be so kind as to leave the city, so that we may.. deal with the remaining resistance?"  
  
All three vampires froze in the presence of this rather intimidating individual. Gunfire ricocheted down the streets, the vampiric factions warring like rival gangs. Christian, first to open his mouth, as usual, stepped forward, his .45s drawn already, levelled plainly at the man, who all knew was a vampire, and a Lasombra at that. Lasombra could control shadows, spewing darkness from their very souls. Christian's undead heart was a-flutter, despite the fact it did not beat.  
  
"No way pal. We don't leave this city until ordered. We're here protecting Camarilla interests, and no Sabbat will tell us otherwise." Christian sneered at the man, who, despite all the fighting, and the two deadly weapons pointed at his chest, did not move. He stood there, like a statue, seemingly unaware that his very existence could be wiped out in a mere finger-twitch. Both Sergei and Nash stood frozen. Though both were much older than Christian, both knew that to mess with a Lasombra was to invite certain death. Christian, believing himself on the ball, squeezed the trigger, a bullet screaming from the barrel of each gun, the .45s bucking in his hand as they launched their deadly ammo towards the shadow- like man.  
  
Before the bullets reached however, the Sabbat stepped back into the shadows surrounding him, disappearing entirely from sight, and from the sound of the bullets striking brick, out of this physical plane. A muttered curse emanated from Chris as he missed, completely unaware of the retaliatory strike heading his way. Before the others could warn him, inky black tendrils of shadow spread through the night, latching onto Christian, pinning him in place, despite his superb strength. His .45s fell to the ground, to be quickly retrieved by Nash, who knew better than to let loaded weapons hit the ground hard, lest they be discharged. Sergei, muttering an incantation, attempted to dispel the tenebrous arms, but to no avail.  
  
"Shit! Get these things off of me! They burn!" Christian writhed under the assault, a low chuckle being heard from the nearby wall. The arms in fact carried the cold of the grave, which even vampires cannot tolerate for long, his skin beginning to give way, like razor wire digging into his flesh. Sergei, in a last ditch attempt to free his friend, muttered another spell, his hands bursting into flame as a wall of red fire leapt from his fingertips, spraying across the wall where the chuckle came from. A moment passed, with no effect, Christian still struggling against his bonds like a man being crucified. He screamed in immense pain as the tendrils tightened once again, leaving him short of breath, even though he didn't really have to breathe. His face contorted, a wave of pain racking his body, struggling still, unwavering, never giving up to his enemy. Suddenly, his vision left him, and all went black.  
  
Christian awoke in a dingy hotel room, his whole body aching, as if he had a really bad sunburn, which lord knows he couldn't do anymore. He moaned, standing as quickly as he possibly could, a wave of nausea overtaking him for a moment. He paused, remaining standing, his body seemingly on fire, and he had no wish to tempt fate by lying down and harming himself more. He walked into the bathroom, running some water in the shower, making sure that it was cold, before removing his clothing and stepping in. He winced as the water cascaded roughly against his sensitive skin, but he remained stoic, waiting for the water to reach a soothing cool, which it soon did. He shut off the shower, getting dressed again, wondering where he is, and what happened, as all he can remember is the fight, which he obviously lost.  
  
He steps out of the room, into the hallway, and wanders down the nearby steps, grimacing at the horrid place he was in. What a dump! He opens a door to the lobby, finding Sergei, John, and a few other vampires. Sergei looked as he did before, and Nash, standing just a little shorter than Chris, and not quite as muscular, remained a commanding presence, even in his rather torn up clothing. His brown hair was mussed unbelievably, as if he had just gotten out of bed, and had not had time to fix himself up.  
  
"About time you woke up you weakling!" Nash exclaimed, chuckling lightly, pointing down at the table, which held a map of the Chicago area. He was pointing to several red pushpins. "As you can see, these are areas where we are losing ground. We can't afford to let that happen. We need to hold these positions, because if not, we lose the city."  
  
Christian looked over the map, wincing as he saw a rather large amount of pushpins, signifying that this one is not going over well for the good guys. He cracked his neck lightly, looking over the group. "How long was I out Sergei?"  
  
Sergei, looking over to his friend, chuckled quietly, as he examined the map. Sergei was a genius, capable of doing so many things at once. "You, my friend, were out for two nights. The only way I could free you was to light the entire area aflame, and needless to say, you were burned severely. We brought you back here to recover, and you will be fine."  
  
Christian nodded, his story being told resulting in a slight chuckle among the war-weary crowd of vampires. He blushed slightly, looking over the map expertly, pointing to one place in particular. "Here.if we make a push here, we can break their line.and we can take this city back."  
  
Both Sergei and Nash looked over at Christian with astonishment, as if he was insane. "Are you crazy?" Nash exclaimed. "That is their most fortified position. If we attack there, we'll be slaughtered, and without our support, the remaining defenders will lose ground until the city belongs to the Sabbat!"  
  
"I know Nash, but if we don't, we're gonna lose this war anyway. If we can pull it off, we can win. If not, well, then we all lose anyway. Either way, if we don't try, we lose." Christian said impatiently, insisting on his plan. It was the only way they could win this thing.  
  
Sergei, thankfully, interrupted on his behalf. "He is correct Nash. It is the only way we can win. If we do not, the Sabbat will push us right off the map. We must do as Christian suggests."  
  
Christian grinned, happy to have the support of Sergei, who, being the eldest vampire there, and the smartest, was fully capable of ordering his plan into action. Christian nodded once to Sergei, and drew his twin Colt .45s, twirling them fancily around his fingers. "Lock and load boys and girls, it's time to kick some ass!"  
  
With that said, the plan was quickly drawn up, and within an hour, they were charging into battle, bloodlust taking over their demonic forms, giving them strength, and speed, and powers beyond mortal comprehension.  
  
The night was surprisingly quiet as the force drove to the Sabbat post, streetlights pooling radiance against the sidewalks and streets. Christian, sitting beside Sergei in his rather large SUV had his Discman blasting Paranoid by Black Sabbath into his ears, head nodding to the beat. He glanced over at Sergei, who, dressed in his usual robes, looked rather out of place in the drivers seat. Sergei was a Tremere, a vampiric sorcerer, definitely not one usually caught associating with members of the Brujah clan, such as Nash and himself. But war made strange bedfellows, and besides, Sergei and Christian had known each other for at least 3 years. Though not long in when your life span is infinite, their friendship was steady, and solid.  
  
"Christian, we are almost there," claimed Sergei, his eyes narrowing as he readied his mind for battle. Christian, startled out of his reverie, nodded, turning off his Discman, placing it in the back seat. He felt the car slide to a halt, and he opened the door, stepping onto the hard pavement, noting the destruction around him.  
  
"What a mess! Look at this place! The Sabbat really messed this place up good!" Christian was astonished at the devastation surrounding him. Fire hydrants were spraying their contents onto the street, windows were shattered, stores looted, fires burning out of control. He shook his head quietly; knowing the entire world would be like this if the Sabbat had their way. A muttered curse escaped his lips as he heard another few cars pull up. Nash and the others had arrived, ready for the offensive that would make or break the war for Chicago.  
  
Alright, everybody here?" Nash asked, peering around slowly, needing all his troops here if this assault were to work. Counting heads, he saw them all, and grinned, drawing his Desert Eagle. "Let's roll!" He started to run down the street, fire erupting from the barricaded street corner where the Sabbat had set up camp.  
  
Christian tore down the street, his speed superior to all of the other vampires, his Brujah knack for swiftness kicking into overdrive. He dove behind a mailbox, bullet fire launching after him, bouncing off of the box and pavement near him, one bullet impacting his upper thigh. He winced in pain, his adrenaline so high he barely felt it, as he turned, standing, firing from his .45s at the enemy. Content to see one drop in a splatter of blood and brain, he dropped down behind his cover again. He reached into his pocket, grabbing his cellphone, tapping the number for speed dial. It was picked up instantly, and he muttered a single word over the line before hanging up. "Overlord." He grinned patiently, knowing that this fight was about to turn for the better. He looked back at his forces closing towards him, wincing as two vampires fell to a barrage of bullets, their bodies shuddering in agony before they fell to the ground, blood leaking from their wounds.  
  
A loud crackle sounded overhead as Sergei put Operation Overlord into action. Standing on top of a nearby building, Sergei grabbed hold of a large electricity cable, borrowing power from it, the building's lights flickering intermittently. Sergei pulsed with blue lightning as he activated his enchantment, his eyes glowing a dim blue as the tremendous energy racked his body with a great spasm. He levelled his hand directly at the Sabbat outpost, and with a single, mystical word, an enormous bolt of lightning lanced out at the sandbagged fort, exploding it in a flash. Vampires dove left and right to avoid the blast and flaming debris, Christian, now with his MP5 drawn, opened up, spraying fire at the terrified victims of Sergei's assault. His special Dragonsbreath incendiary rounds made short work of the Sabbat, who as vampires, had an amazing vulnerability to fire. He watched as those he fired upon burst into flame, turning to ash in a matter of moments. Within five minutes, the outpost was destroyed, all occupants killed. It was a major victory for the Camarilla. The Sabbat were routed out of the city soon after.  
  
A week later, Christian walked down the streets of Chicago, watching the repair crews start to fix up the city. It would take a long time, and a lot of taxpayer dollars, but it would be done. He smiled to himself, glad to have been part of this fight. He fought, and he had won, but he knew that the Lasombra who had beaten him was still out there. He had not been seen dead or alive after the night where he had thrashed Christian, and that put a slight fear in Christian's heart. He didn't even know the name of his attacker, and he doubted he ever would.  
  
Stefan Allesandre, a member of clan Lasombra sat in his well-furnished mansion, just outside of Washington D.C., wishing that he had not been recalled from the fight for Chicago. If he had been there, the Sabbat surely would have been victorious. He sat back, twitching a finger, tendrils of shadow restraining a young, teenage girl, a silent scream on her lips as the shadows held her in place. Stefan stood, his black Armani suit crinkling slightly as he did. He frowned in distaste, and reached out, grasping her hair tightly. The girl squirmed, in obvious terror, unsure what this being was before her. Stefan smiled politely, his attractive features contorting then to a sadistic grin. "I don't have Christian DuLac, but you my dear, will have to do." 


End file.
